


until my dying day.

by malruth



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge! Fusion, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24293992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malruth/pseuds/malruth
Summary: "All you need is love." Dmitry whispered, brushing his hand against her waist carefully.She sniffled, leaning into him and pressing her forehead to his own. "Please... don't start this again."Her crystal blue gaze shifted up to meet his chocolate brown, and he knew in that moment that he would give up everything in his life if it meant he could stay with her forever. "All you need is love."
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	until my dying day.

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> so, i recently got to see anastasia when it came to my hometown and i have been in love it ever since. i was inspired by anastasia fics based on films, and after i re-watched moulin rouge and realized caroline o'connor was in it, i suddenly wanted to make this fic. 
> 
> a few things have been changed from the film to better suit anastasia's plot, but i tried to keep it as true to the original as i could. happy reading!

There was a boy,  
a very strange,   
enchanted boy.

They say he wandered very far, very far.  
Over land and sea, a little shy,  
and sad of eye.

But very wise, was he.  
. . .  
The breeze from the open window brushed over him. The cold felt almost comforting, in a sense. It served as a tool to pull him back to his miserable reality, deprived of the vibrant existence he'd lived only a year prior. His heart longed for that time again, when passion and love was a constant high that he thought he could never come down from. But now? He was locked away, heavy chains made of grief holding him down in this bleak apartment. For a time, Paris was his escape- no more forged papers, corrupted officers, or repressed feelings. But after everything- Vlad, Gleb, the Moulin Rouge... and her? He felt as trapped in Paris as he had in Saint Petersburg. 

He stumbled over to his desk, cluttered by at least ten empty bottles of vodka, bottles that still reeked of the vile liquid. But among these bottles was his typewriter. The machine had sat unused for almost a month. Part of him wanted to throw it out the window, to be rid of the damn thing. An object that once brought him great joy now was just a haunting reminder of what once was and could never be again. 

But he owed this to her.

He swallowed, taking a seat and putting in a new sheet of paper. His fingers brushed along the keys, as he contemplated how to begin. 

And then it hit him.

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

The story began with the damn Moulin Rouge. A nightclub. A dance club, a bordello. Ruled by his close friend, Vlad Popov. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures, a place where the rich and esteemed came to 'play' with the beautiful creatures of the underworld. But the most beautiful of all was Anya Petrova. The star of the show. Even with his blurred vision, he could still picture her. A soft, rounded face with freckles lining her nose and cheeks. Long, flowing strawberry-blonde curls that brushed down her back. Two large blue eyes that helped earn her the nickname 'The Sparkling Diamond'. A courtesan who was full of love, but sold it to the highest bidder. 

A courtesan who taught him how to love.

He felt his hands shaking, but he had to continue.

Dmitry had first arrived in Paris in 1899, during the summer. The summer of love, it was called. After years and years of work, he finally had enough money to escape from Saint Petersburg. Would his life still be penniless? Of course. But in Paris, anything was possible. It housed all kinds of artists, poets, actresses, writers. People who could freely express themselves without hesitation. People who were penniless, just like him. 

The first thing he got was the key to his flat- the second was his brand new typewriter. He practically ran all the way home, immediately setting it up. He was anxious to type all his emotions out onto the paper. He described his childhood in Saint Petersburg prior to the death of his father. He described the joy his father brought him regardless of their struggle. He wrote of the deep depression he spiraled into when he learned of his father's death. The fear he felt sneaking onto the train, waiting days until he got to Latvia. 

But all of his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the stairs outside creaking under heavy weight. He paused the clacking of the keys, listening for more movement. He heard it the footsteps growing closer and he dug in his boot, grabbing his pocket knife and sliding it open. He had to be hesitant. The months he spent getting out of Russia weren't going to be for nothing.

A knock. 

"Qui est la?" He shouted in broken French. 

"Старый друг." An old friend. He knew that voice. Dmitry closed the knife, placing it back in his boot and running over to the door, quickly unlocking it. The man in his doorway was just slightly taller than himself, but was much heavier. His cheeks were full and red. A thin pair of glasses hung on his nose. The man was none other than Dmitry's old partner in crime, Vlad Popov. Vlad was a former member of the imperial court in Russia, but to say he was a favorite of the royals was quite untrue. He was a controversial figure, as he had a long line of suggestive activities he was involved in. Notably, sleeping with a married countess and stealing priceless jewels. It was no wonder Russian officials wanted him gone. A firing squad held him against the wall in Saint Petersburg, ready to end his life. But Dmitry, who was standing nearby, could only see his father in Vlad. A man who had done something wrong, but a man who didn't deserve to die. So, in a desperate attempt to save his life, Dmitry quickly stepped in and grabbed Vlad, with both of them running like hell to get away. After the firing squad eventually gave up their pursuit, the pair became unlikely friends. After years of friendship, Vlad revealed that he had received a letter from the countess he'd been involved with, inviting him back to Paris to help her run the Moulin Rouge. Vlad promised to send money and food to help Dmitry escape, and he kept his word. Every month, he would send cans of food and several rubles to help him get by. Eventually, Dmitry was able to sneak out of Russia and the rest was history.

Vlad threw his arms around Dmitry, a broad grin stretching across his face. "It's so good to see you, мой мальчи! How has Paris treated you?" His former partner looked around at his flat, taking in the rickety furniture, the peeling wallpaper, and the trash scattered on the floor. "Good, good... anything is better than Petersburg." He replied, sliding out from under Vlad's arm to close the window. "I'll drink to that," Vlad chuckled, pulling out a rather large bottle of vodka, "so, I know you just got here, but... I have a job for you." Of course. There was always a catch.

"No, Vlad. I told you when you left. I only stole to get out of Russia. I'm not gonna fuck my life up here to steal for you." Dmitry replied, pulling a couple of glasses out from his bag. His mentor took the glasses and shook his head. "I don't want you to steal anything. Actually, I want you to write a show." This caught Dmitry's attention, but he tried to suppress the excitement that was internally brewing. "Go on."

Vlad poured the vodka, gesturing for Dmitry to pick up his glass. "The Moulin Rouge, despite it's popularity among the French... is suffering. Lily's lost a lot of money with repairs, and we're having trouble keeping it up. We need funding badly. And... I need an attraction that's really going to captivate the audience. I've tried everything, but nothing works. Your writing is so passionate. I have no doubt that if you were to write a show, you would win over a wealthy audience." A deep sigh from Dmitry, who downed the vodka quickly. "If you have no money, how are we supposed to make it? Costumes, sets. That's all expensive." 

His brow furrowed as Vlad's face lit up. "Ah, I'm glad you asked." He refilled their glasses before he took a seat at Dmitry's desk. "There's a man visiting from Russia. Gleb Vaganov. He's the son of a very influential political figure. Very, very rich. And he took quite a lot of interest in our little nightclub the other night, especially little Miss Anya. That got me thinking! If Anya were to become... permanently involved with Vaganov AND star in the show, he'd help pay for the whole thing. I set up a meeting for them tomorrow so they can be alone." Dmitry sighed in irritation as he set the glass on the table. 

"Look, Vlad. I appreciate all you've done for me. I'm sorry the Moulin Rouge isn't doing well. But I've never written an entire play before. I'm not an experienced writer." He muttered, before continuing. "And this all sounds wrong. This Enya girl may be a courtesan, but she's a person. With feelings. We don't even know much about this Vaganov character. Prostituting for an hour is different than prostituting for the rest of her life."

There was a shift, and they both felt it. Desperation hung heavy in the air.

"But you ARE an experienced writer. Your words are laced with some of the most intimate passion Paris will ever know. She's one of the most passionate women I know. And she's not a идиот; she knows what she's doing. She's a grown women and knows how to make tough choices."

Dmitry paused, staring down at his glass. He knew this was wrong. Everything about it felt wrong. 

" She's giving up her life to some random guy she barely knows."

"Dmitry, listen to me. Please. We need this. Anya is smart, she knows what she's doing. She knows what she wants. But... if it will make you feel more comfortable, I will arrange for you to meet her. You can two can discuss everything. Just be there tomorrow by seven. And if you think it'll work, I'll give you a quarter of the profits. What do you say?" Now that caught his attention. He began to ponder on Vlad's proposition. If he wrote this show and it was a hit, he'd be making a comfortable amount of money. As much as his conscience reminded him that this was wrong, the sound of all that money almost made him salivate. He needed a source of income if he were to survive. 

A few moments passed before he sighed in reluctance. "Okay. Okay, I'll do it."

When he looked up, all he saw was Vlad's smile of victory. "Don't worry. It's all gonna work out," He set the bottle of vodka and the table and stood, grabbing his coat. "think of this as a housewarming gift. I'll work it all out for you to come by tomorrow night. Remember: 7. Wear your best suit, you have quite the impression to make."

Without even giving him time to respond, Vlad was already out the door. He slammed it behind him as he ran down the stairs, back to the nightclub he held so dear for their soiree. Dmitry chuckled to himself. He'd let himself get roped up in Vlad's insane plans yet again. 

He walked over to the window, pushing it open so he could step outside onto the balcony. The windmill stood across the street, a clear reminder that he was now tied to the Moulin Rouge, for better or for worse. As he watched men begin streaming in for the night's festivities, each more excited than the last as the night dragged on. But he also had to wonder- what was in store for him tomorrow night? 

Dmitry chuckled.

He was in Paris now. Anything could happen.

. . .

And then, one day,  
A magic day, he passed my way.

And while we spoke of many things,  
fools and kings...

This he said to me:

The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love, and be loved in return.

**Author's Note:**

> translations:  
> Qui est la - Who's here?  
> Старый друг - Old friend  
> мой мальчи - My boy  
> идиот - moron/idiot  
> soiree - evening 
> 
> thank you for reading! please let me know what you think :)


End file.
